The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2)

by Victor Gischler

  “Which spell?”

  “None of your business.”

  “If there is so much magic up there, then why aren’t they pulling it out left and right?” Brasley asked.

  “Because wizards can be real assholes, and most of them hate people messing with their stuff, even centuries after they’ve died,” Talbun explained. “Booby traps are common, and magical booby traps are particularly nasty.”

  They both paused to take large gulps of beer.

  “Why did you write down those names?” she asked.

  “Because these are the leaders of the next three expeditions heading for the upper levels.”

  “So?”

  “So you heard what Minn said. If there is a cancellation, we get the slot.”

  “Please. What are the chances of . . .”

  He smiled.

  “You have some kind of plan, don’t you?” she said.

  “It’s a work in progress.”

  “You have some kind of sneaky bastard plan because you are a sneaky bastard.”

  Brasley frowned. “That’s not quite how I’d put it, but yes.”

  Talbun gulped beer. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  Brasley read the first name from the list. “Kalrick Vishnae.”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Talbun said. “A powerful sorcerer from somewhere out west, I think.”

  “As we’ve already labeled wizards as dangerous and ill tempered, we should probably cross him off the list.” Brasley drew a line through the name with a quill. “Not looking to incur the wrath of the wrathful.”

  “A wise policy,” Talbun agreed.

  “Likewise, Count Ahlruck seems to be someone of importance, if the title is any indication, so let’s give him a miss as well.” Brasley crossed through the name. “That leaves us with somebody named Rell Blummand.”

  “Never heard of him,” Talbun said.

  “Perfect.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now we arrange for some appropriate calamity for our dear Master Blummand.”

  Talbun hoisted her tankard in salute. “I wondered what Rina saw in you. Now I get it.”

  Brasley shrugged. “What’s the point of being a liar and a cad and a womanizer if one can’t . . . You know, I forgot where I was going with this.”

  “Never mind,” Talbun said. “Just drink your beer.”

  They clunked their tankards together and drank up.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  They’d dodged three storms since leaving the Red City, the captain seemingly everywhere at once on the scow schooner, hopping around like some emaciated tree frog, pulling ropes, tugging on the tiller, and cackling at his own jokes. He’d squint at a smudge of cloud on the horizon, declare a storm was approaching, and alter course.

  Miko had done his best to follow the map’s course, and it quickly became clear why a bigger ship such as the Witch of Kern wouldn’t do.

  The Scattered Isles were a mess, at least from the point of view of anyone trying to navigate them. The narrow passages between the islands were littered with rocks humping up from the water in unlikely places. At one point, they’d taken a channel between two islands so narrow that Alem could almost reach out and touch the hanging palm fronds from a tree that grew out at an angle over the water.

  When they’d later come to a patch of what seemed like open water, Miko had sent Alem to the prow and had ordered him to watch the depth. “You yell if too shallow. Okay? You tell Miko quick or bottom rip out of boat and we sink good and fast, yeah, yeah.”

  Through the crystal blue water, Alem had watched with alarm as a reef rapidly came up from the bottom of the sea. At one point there was barely three feet of water between the bottom of the scow and the craggy reef. Alem had breathed a sigh of relief when they’d hit deep water again.

  So far, the gypsy’s map hadn’t steered them wrong.

  “What’s he looking at?”

  Alem turned away from the islands he’d been watching, to look up at Maurizan. She wore one of the blousy pairs of pants she’d purchased in the bazaar but had cut them off at the knees to combat the heat. She wore her lightest blouse, bright yellow cotton, the long sleeves rolled up, knotted above her belly button. The sun had turned her skin pink and had brought out the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  She looked beautiful in such a completely different way from Rina.

  No wonder men like Brasley have such a hard time settling on just one woman.

  But Brasley was married now. Would that change him?

  “Did you hear me?”

  Alem blinked. “What?”

  “I asked what you think he’s looking at.”

  Alem looked back at the tiller. Miko balanced on the stern gunwale, bobbing with the waves, hands cupped around his eyes as he stared into the distance.

  “He’s usually laughing about something, but he’s not now,” Alem said. “Which worries me.”

  “Let’s ask him,” Maurizan suggested.

  They went aft, stepping over Kalli, Lureen, and Viriam, who lounged on the deck in the sun, heads resting on coils of rope. Barefoot. They wore men’s breeches rolled to the knees and blouses knotted in the same fashion as Maurizan’s.

  “Aren’t you hot?” Kalli asked Alem as he passed.

  “There’s a good breeze,” Alem said. “But yes.”

  “Then get that shirt off,” Lureen said. “Show us what you’ve got.”

  The other two giggled. Alem went red to the ears.

  Maybe they’ll just think it’s sunburn.

  They laughed harder.

  Nope.

  Alem hurried along aft.

  “Alem.”

  He looked back at Maurizan.

  “If the bullies are picking on you, just tell me.” Maurizan grinned. “I’ll protect you.”

  Alem frowned. “Hilarious.”

  Maurizan laughed, caught his sleeve. “I mean, you do know they look at you, right?”

  “What? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Don’t get too big headed,” the gypsy told him. “You’re basically the only game in town. Miko looks more like a wrung-out piece of leather than a man. They’re just looking. To pass the time.”

  “What about Tosh?”

  Maurizan shook her head. “Too complicated from their time at the Wounded Bird. He’s more like a big brother or something.”

  Alem managed a grin. “Looks like I’m not going to be lonely on this trip.”

  Maurizan’s smile dropped. “The way this boat tosses around, it would be real easy for me to bump into somebody and knock them overboard.”

  “Maybe we should just go see what Miko is looking at,” Alem said.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  At the tiller, both of them looked up at the captain. He hadn’t moved from his spot, still staring into the distance.

  “What’s the word, Miko?” Alem asked.

  Miko said nothing.

  Alem looked at Maurizan. The gypsy shrugged.

  Alem raised his voice. “Miko. Is it another storm?”

  “Yes,” Miko said.

  “Can we go around it like the others?”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no?”

  “The others ones we go away from,” Miko said. “This one gets us.”

  “What if we change course?”

  Miko shook his head. “This one gets us.”

  Tosh was coming now, stepping over the women and heading aft. “What’s going on?”

  “Storm.”

  “Can we avoid it?” Tosh asked.

  Alem shook his head. “Apparently this one gets us.”

  “Then we should put in somewhere,” Tosh said.

  Miko pointed at the closest island off the port side. “Cannibals.” He pointed starboard. “Cannibals.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Miko gestured at his own body. “Skin and bones.” He reached out and pinched the fleshy part of Tosh’s upper arm. “Good meal.”

>   Tosh jerked his arm away. “Stop that. That’s fucking creepy.”

  “What do we do now?” Maurizan asked.

  Miko pointed a bony finger at the deck. “Everything loose. Tie down or get below.”

  Tosh turned to the women lounging on the deck. “Kalli, get ’em up. We’ve got weather coming. Batten down the hatches.”

  They all scrambled to clear the decks or lash down the bigger crates. Miko stayed at the tiller, leaning into it, pointing the scow into the wind. The clouds had seemed far off, but the cold rain lashed them sooner than expected, thunder rolling across the sky. Lightning illuminated the insides of black clouds. What had been a bright sunny day less than an hour ago was now grim and gray and dark.

  The sea tossed the scow, waves splashing over the gunwale.

  Maurizan and Alem clung to a lifeline. Her face looked terrified.

  “Alem,” she shouted over the wind and crashing waves.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not the best swimmer.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Alem said. “We’re just going on a little ride. Miko will bring us out on the other side and we’ll just be a little wet is all.”

  It was now so dark it might as well have been night. He saw her frightened face in the next flash of lightning. And the next crack of thunder was so loud, it sounded like it was five feet over their heads. Maurizan jumped and grabbed his arm. The rain came in almost sideways, stinging and cold.

  The scow rose alarmingly with each wave, nearly pointing the prow straight up at the sky, then crashing down again on the other side so hard, Alem thought the boat might be smashed to kindling. Somehow they stayed afloat.

  A wave crashed over the side, knocking Maurizan and Alem from their places in a rush of foaming seawater. They lost their grips on the lifeline. Maurizan screamed. Alem grabbed for the rope again with one hand, barely caught it. With the other hand he snagged Maurizan’s ankle as she tumbled toward the edge of the boat. He pulled her back, and she clung to him shivering and coughing.

  Alem’s hand went into his pocket, came out with the necklace he’d bought for her at the bazaar. He put it around her neck. “Here. I got this for you.” Maybe it would take her mind off of their imminent deaths.

  Maurizan couldn’t see it, felt the pendant in one hand, trying to guess its shape.

  “What is it?”

  “Something pretty,” Alem said. “You can have a better look at it when this is all over.”

  “Do you remember the first time we kissed?” Maurizan had to put her mouth almost against Alem’s ear to be heard over the wind and the crashing waves.

  “In a storm,” Alem said.

  She took his face in her hand and pulled it down, kissed him hard, desperately. She tasted like salt water, but it didn’t matter. Their tongues snaked into each other’s mouths, and they held each other as if it might be the last thing they would ever do.

  Another huge wave slapped across the deck, smashing a line of crates that had been lashed to the deck. They went over the side but were still attached to one end of the rope. They dragged along in the water, and the scow listed badly in response, the deck pitching at a terrifying angle.

  “Cut it loose!” Miko screamed from the tiller. “Cut it! Cut it!”

  Alem let go of Maurizan and lurched toward the line, waves crashing down on him, one hand falling to the knife on his belt. He went to one knee, used the knife to saw at the rope where it was pulled tight against the gunwale.

  In the next flash of lightning, he saw something in the water, a white shape maybe six feet long, something just below the surface. The next display of lightning lasted longer, jagged blue lines crackling across the sky. Alem took a better look. Arms and legs. The shape of a person swimming alongside the scow.

  Alem heard Miko’s crazy voice in his head: The Fish Man.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Cut it!” Miko shouted. “Cut it, you fool!”

  Alem returned his attention to the rope. The knife was wet and slick in his hand. He fumbled it. It bounced once off the gunwale and vanished into the dark sea.

  Oh . . . shit.

  Maurizan was at his side in the next instant, handing him her dagger handle first. “Use this!”

  He sawed the rest of the way through the rope, and it pulled apart, leaving the crates in the scow’s wake.

  The boat righted itself. The deck under their feet tilted back into position abruptly, and Maurizan staggered, arms wheeling to find balance. She lost her footing . . . and went over the side.

  A stab of horror jolted Alem’s heart. “Maurizan!”

  And without thinking he was over the side after her.

  He went down into the cold water, kicked, came up again, sputtering. “Maurizan!”

  Alem saw a gleaming pinprick of light on the water in the next flash of lightning.

  The pendant.

  He kicked toward her.

  “Alem!”

  “I’m coming.”

  The white shape streaked past him toward Maurizan. The Fish Man scooped her in one arm as he past, and Alem saw her terrified eyes, hands reaching out for him as she disappeared into the night.

  “Alem!”

  He opened his mouth to answer but a wave slammed down onto him from above. He was pushed deep, lungs burning. At first he didn’t know which way to swim, but then he saw a blur of lightning above like something from a fading dream.

  He kicked hard, broke the surface, and gasped for air.

  Alem turned his head in every direction, but there was no sign of Maurizan or the scow.

  Only towering waves and the wide angry sea.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Talbun and Brasley stood before the immense gates of the Great Library. Standing this close, it was dizzying to look up at the edifice that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. Now that he was here, Brasley realized what should have been an obvious flaw in his plan.

  He had zero desire to enter the Great Library.

  And yet that’s just where he was about to go.

  There was a small guardhouse to the right of the gate. A man in university livery and leather armor emerged and waved Talbun and Brasley off the side of the road. “You’re not clear to enter yet. Please allow other traffic to pass.”

  Brasley waved at the man. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Scholars in green robes went in and out of the gate. They didn’t seem to have any problem walking around the cart, but Brasley didn’t want any trouble. He took the goat by the reins and led him to the side of the road to get out of the way.

  A goat cart. Not in a thousand years had Brasley expected to buy a goat cart. When Brasley had realized he’d need to outfit himself for the expedition inside the Great Library, he’d been directed to a market just outside of the library’s gates that specialized in such things: lanterns, food, water, rope, mapping materials, various tools for the ardent treasure hunter.

  It was a lot to carry.

  The solution had been the goat cart, a staple of library expeditions for over a century.

  It had been explained to Brasley that the library was like a great city in some ways, with wide avenues and soaring arched ceilings. Lots and lots of room, enough for a team of wagons. But in other areas, passages were no wider than an ordinary doorway.

  The wooden goat carts were six feet long but only two feet wide. The goats were a domesticated version of a sturdy mountain breed, and the curved horns of the brown animal standing next to him came up to his chest.

  He named the goat Titan in memory of a horse.

  “Baron Hammish!”

  Somebody was yelling his name. Brasley turned to see a pimple-faced youth running toward him, his green university robe hiked up so he could move fast, a leather pack over one shoulder. He wore a gold cord around his shoulders with no knots.

  The youth stopped in front of him, bent to put his hands on his knees, panting. “I’m your guide, pant, pant. Name’s Olgen. Pant, pant. Thought I might be la
te.” He straightened and smiled crookedly. “Hate for you to leave without me.”

  “We can’t leave without you,” Brasley said. “It’s against the rules to go without a guide.”

  Olgen scrunched up his face as if it were taking Brasley’s words a long time to get from his ears to his brain. “Oh yeah.”

  Brasley sighed. “And how is it we are so privileged to have you as our guide, Olgen?”

  “My area is tattoos and ink magic,” Olgen said. “It’s a branch of the historical study of the Mage Wars. Hardly anyone specializes in the study of the tattoos themselves. I’m only a first year, but don’t worry. I know my stuff.”

  “Excellent.” We’re doomed.

  A coach drawn by a single horse pulled to a stop next to them. The door opened and Lord Minn stepped out.

  “Lord Minn,” Brasley said. “I hadn’t expected you to see us off in person.”

  “I see off all of the expeditions,” Minn said. “I see you have your goat and cart.”

  “A magnificent beast full of vim and vigor.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Minn’s eye shifted to Olgen. “And also your guide.”

  “His vim and vigor has yet to be determined.”

  “I must admit, I was surprised when a slot opened up so soon,” Minn said.

  “Fortune has indeed smiled upon us,” Brasley said.

  “Strange that Rell Blummand and his entire expedition should suddenly all come down with dysentery. I was told they were all having a last meal together in celebration of their expedition and perhaps got a hold of some bad fish.”

  “Alas that our good luck should be predicated on his unfortunate circumstances,” Brasley said. “We wish him and his party a speedy recovery.”

  “Hmmm. Yes. Well, in any case, good luck, sir, to you and your assistant.” Minn waved at the soldier in front of the guardhouse. “They’re clear! Let them through.”

  “Farewell,” Brasley called to Minn over his shoulder.

  Talbun walked next to him as Brasley led Titan through the gate. No turning back now.

  “You’ve been in here before, right?”